


Unspoken

by Conduitstreetcat, theafternoonbreak



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Feelings, Jealousy, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 07:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16081559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conduitstreetcat/pseuds/Conduitstreetcat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theafternoonbreak/pseuds/theafternoonbreak
Summary: Sebastian is jealous of Jim's attention for Sherlock, and finally decides to claim Jim for his own.





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theafternoonbreak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theafternoonbreak/gifts).



_“Aw, come on Tiger, you know you're my favourite.”_

I huff. “What about that detective?”

 

_“What detective?”_

“The arrogant pretty one.” I’ll not say his bloody name and watch your eyes light up.

 

 

_“Honey. Darling. Tigger. He's *_ _me*_ _. He's the angel version of me. I couldn't not play with him, it's too much fun to watch him dance.”_

_I chuckle. “I wouldn't shag him - it'd be like masturbation…”_

 

“Everyone likes a good jerk off though.”

 

_“Yes well I prefer a good jerk. Now stop pouting.”_

_You are still frowning, looking distinctly miffed. I stroke under your chin._

_“Awww who's my favourite twelve-year-old girl then?”_

 

 

“Don't know yet but I'll find her and put a bullet in her head.”

 

 

 _“Goodness, you really *_ _are*_ _stroppy today, aren't you Sebbie?”  
I roll my eyes. “Tell you what, when I've beaten Sherlock you can have him, that ok?”_

Oh can I? Hmm… Pretty boy won’t be pretty for long after that…  
“Fair. Ok.

Thanks, Jim.”

 

 

 _I roll over on the sofa, looking at you upside down. “Now will you stop *_ _sulking*_ _and show me why I keep you around in the first place?”_

 

 

“Should I kill someone or fuck you senseless?”

 

_I sigh. “Does anyone need killing?”_

 

I shrug. “Don't know. That's up to you to decide, isn't it?”

 

 

_I roll back upright, look at you leaning on my elbows. “Indeed. And I didn't mention anyone needing killing. So if we put those two premises together, what inevitable conclusion do we reach?”_

 

 

“That you want my cock inside you?”

 

 

_“You're slow, but accurate...”_

 

 

“That's why you like me.”

 

_I roll my eyes._ _“Yes, Sebastian, I *like*_ _you, god, are we pre-schoolers? Now can we get down to fucking business, please?” Pun well and truly intended._

 

 

You seem restless, and honestly all this talking has been enough for me too, enough for the rest of the month really.

I grab you under the shoulders, lift you up, slam you onto the nearest wall and part your legs with my knees. Teeth on your neck, one hand already down on your zip: I lost enough time thinking about _that_.

 

 

_Fuck! You're not holding back. If making you jealous makes you this ferocious I should talk about Sherlock more often._

_I tell my muscles not to fight back, it's Seb, it's alright, he's trustworthy - he'll leave me bruised but that's only *good*._

_I grin, then moan as you bite my neck hard - "should get you a muzzle..."_

 

 

Oh really? A bite becomes two, three, four, moving up on your chin, down your throat. The zip's down, my hand squeezes your cock just to see if it hurts or if it's good, my leg keeps your feet apart and don't, don't look at me like that Jim or I'll just act however the fuck I want to…

 

 

_Your bites keep coming and they're delicious, sending sweet ripples of delicious pain through my spine. You grab my cock, which is only too keen to be grabbed, you look at me defiantly, oooh, that's not a look we get to enjoy a lot, I can't help but smirk, but I enjoy it, have your rebellion, enjoy it while it lasts._

_I pull your t-shirt out of your trousers, grasp my hands around your back._

 

 

None of this now. It doesn't take long for me, _really_ , to literally turn you around, slamming your front against the wall. You're so tiny, aren't you; I could crumble you between my index finger and my thumb; besides I don't really need that smirk, I don't need your eyes and I'm not even sure if I need _you_.

You wanted to fuck, let's fuck. One arm across your shoulder blade is enough to keep you still while I tug down your trousers and underwear together.

Pretty unceremoniously, I admit that, but who gives a fuck. It's to give _you_ relief, after all.

 

_Hold on. You're really pissed off. I'm not sure what to do - do I let you take me, which is a lovely idea, or do I address this. It's hard to interrupt a Moran in mid-flow, and well, it is kind of hot? But I will have to deal with that attitude afterwards - can't have you being distracted by *sentiment*, not even anger. Definitely not anger towards me._

_But for now - I let you manhandle me. It's nice sometimes to feel the raw weapon that you are._

 

 

One hand moves on your cock, stroking it fast and hard and my teeth latch again on your neck, biting down hard. There's no need to be gentle and slow.

I move my other hand to your lips, pressing, asking for entrance… Lube is just too far, spit has to do. Sure, you could bite my fingers off. I wouldn't suggest that, but it might be part of the game, I'm perfectly aware of that, much as I'm blind to anything else.

 

 

_You're going to make me suffer, aren't you? Fine, Tiger, whatever makes you happy - I'm game. I've never shied away from pain - I prefer to give, but I'm happy to receive - from you, anyway. I know I can trust you, and it's good to feel your power, your strength - the ferocious animal I fell in love with._

_…_

_I... must be lightheaded._

_I meant - yeah._

_Whatever._

 

 

Something seems wrong, and that alone makes hesitate, some wheels in my mind slowing down as I press myself against you and try to find rationality enough to communicate with you.

It's hard. Fucking hard, to find words, and I let my hand slide down with a growl, stopping it on your hip, holding tight.

Don't go. Not now.

Be mine, you fucker, be mine.

I press against you again, the other hand wrapped around your cock, palming it and protecting it from the wall at the same time. Words. I need them.

 

 

_You're pressing against me and I'm drawn back into the reality of my body from wherever I was momentarily drifting off to. You're palming my cock, but your hand has moved away from my mouth. I thought you wanted me to wet your fingers. What's - you're not thinking of going in dry, are you? That... would be unlike you. You're caring about my wellbeing even when on the verge of strangling me. I wait, barely daring to move._

 

 

Not a word, but just some kind of weird instinct takes over. I don't need your spit when I've got my own.

It's, again, just a matter of seconds for me to pin you safely to the wall with my hand and kneel down, grabbing your pretty ass and spreading it, using my own spit, my own tongue as lube. It should feel filthy, maybe, but I am way past caring. I need to know you're ready, at least as much as possible, and you are the one who taught me, after all, that if you want a job done well you better do it yourself.

 

 

_Oh. Oh that's nice. You've never done this without being ordered before and it's.... good, to know it's not a job you hate. And it feels nice, it feels hot, it feels... like an honour? That you want me so much._

_I groan, claw in vain at the ungiving wall - god I want you Sebastian. I always want you, you're a dangerous, addictive drug... and I can't quit._

 

 

The sounds coming from you are getting to my head but I keep going, using one of my hands, a few of my fingers to be sure you can take it. It doesn't take long; it doesn't need to be a cuddle, but I'd never hurt you like this. In another million ways, sure, but this, without having spoken about it, no. You're tight still, but wet enough, stretched enough to make it doable without real screams of pain. I move back up, teeth on your nape now and my hand back stroking your cock, now quick, rough. I have to take a step back, just a few seconds, enough to free myself. Try to move, sweetheart, and you'll have to deal with the consequences.

 

 

_You're opening me up, the other side of gentle, just the bare minimum but it's alright, I don't mind hurt, not from you, not from the man who will kill anyone *else* who even thinks about hurting me... eventually. I groan at your teeth in my neck, I'm ready, Seb, god, *fuck* me like you've never fucked anyone before, your hand on my cock is driving the urge higher, I want to tell you to fuck me, but I know I shouldn't; I can't tell you what to do, not now, and I won't fucking beg for it ... Just fuck me for fuck's sake. You move back and I hear the clink of your buckle, the sound of your zip, and I brace myself against the wall._

 

 

Stepping back close to you and entering your body is just one smooth action and as soon as I feel myself stretching you, pushing past the tight ring of muscles, I slow down just enough to not tear you up. I don't stop, I don't talk; I slowly push myself to the hilt, wait for a second - you're so fucking hot, I can't come, I can't just now - and then I start to move.

All the way out, all the way in, slow, following your body once again. Out, all of it, in, as deep as I can go. Time after time it becomes easier, faster, still deep, deep, the wall perfect as a leverage.

 

 

_Oh fuck... I am not moving, I am in charge of my body, and it stays still if I tell it to stay still, even under an onslaught such as this. It is delectable, it is agony, it is feral desire, it is everything you are, burning your way inside me, further and further, relentlessly claiming every inch of me, as I pant against the wall and scratch gouges into the paper. You're not speaking, not moaning, no sound comes from you except a slightly heavy breathing as you move your way inside me, until I think I can't take any more, but that's it, you're fully there, hold it for a moment, hold me suspended in luscious torment, before you move out again, and in, still so silent, it's eerie._

 

 

Suddenly coming doesn't feel like it is the priority, claiming you is. I keep focusing, I keep steady, I keep thrusting in and out, completely, a little quicker each time I get inside you, a little longer there, where you can feel me. And you feel me alright, since you're panting, scratching the wall. I don't need to use my hands to keep you still, my weight, _your_ will is enough. I go deeper, harder, pauses shorter now between one thrust and the other; my hand holds your cock more than properly stroking it but you're leaking, you're panting, you're mine. I'm suddenly not sure how long I'll last before melting, losing myself in you again.

 

 

_I'm not sure what you think you're doing. You're asserting your territory, claiming me as *yours* with every thrust of your cock. And though that's kind of hot in a bedroom game sort of way, this doesn't feel like a game any more. You are serious. And the worst thing is that I'm not sure what you're serious about. Is this jealousy still? What are you trying to prove? But oh fuck you're *good* at this and it's hard to concentrate on trying to gauge your motives when you're pounding me like that and holding my cock, barely moving, but who needs their cock stroked when being fucked so *intensely*...._

_I moan against the wall... "Fuck, Seb..."_

 

 

Your voice breaks the silence and it's good, it's fucking good to hear you broken and panting. I groan softly and decide to change the game a little, because I'm the one calling the shots and deciding _when_.

It doesn't take much for me to start fucking you bloody properly, in and out fast and as deep as I can, again and again and again. I don't want to moan and I sure as bloody hell don't want to talk, so the safest thing to do is move my mouth back on your shoulder and sink my teeth hard into your smooth skin.

 

 

_Fuck - fuck oh god Christ oh fuck Sebastian - I can't take - oh fuccck. I can't - I'm - can't brain. My entire being is sensation, and sensational it is, you're fucking me like a man possessed, not holding back, still so bloody silent though, I can't help but moan, pant, gasp, but you're like a *machine*, pounding like it's not having any effect on you, and it's starting to worry me - what's going on in that beautiful head of yours? But then you *bite*, hard, and the sting of the bite combined with the murderous rhythm drives every coherent thought from my head. I hear a whine - surely that wasn't me?_

 

 

Your body twitches, I can feel it reverberate all through my body, you're close and I can't, I just can't ignore it. Some sort of noise comes up from my throat and fuck, that's not supposed to happen, not now. I bite harder and change my aim again: it's time you come for me, I don't care about myself, I don't even want to, but I need to feel you, I need to feel you _surrender_ yourself to me. The thrusts get restless and erratic and I have to breathe harder, I've got to concentrate - I fucking want you to be mine, and mine alone, and I'm just going to take you now. Mine.

 

 

_It was you, there was a sound, you made a sound, I'm not leaving you cold - I never realized it, but of all the responses I invoke in you, apathy has never been one, and it's one I seem to fear. I'm alright with your fury, your hatred, your jealousy, but the thought of you just not feeling anything when you fuck me into oblivion - it was appalling. You're biting harder and fuck, it's almost too much, but you're keeping me on that delicate edge, and you're getting less steady in your moves, breathing harder, sounding needing, almost desperate - what's going on with you, my Tiger? I want to turn around, hold you close, kiss you, find out what's wrong - stupid pre-orgasmic thoughts. I push them away._

 

 

It's time.

It's just time and while my thrusts don't change at all - same rhythm, same depth, over and over, inside you, deep, deep inside you every time - my hand on your cock starts stroking. It's firm enough and quick enough to have you moan louder and there you go, there you are, coming for me in my hand. The feeling is so intense, your body squeezes me so tightly I just can't hold back and when I'm sure you're done, spent, dry, I finally let myself come inside you with a single, drawn out, low and almost _painful_ groan.

 

 

_Oh. Oh fuck. Oh flaming Nora. Oh Sebastian Sebastian SebAS-_

_My body explodes, my vision goes black and I'm seeing fireworks behind my eyelids from how tightly I'm scrunching them up. I'm so delirious with the feeling of you fucking me so hard, so intensely, that your hand on my cock is merely the nudge I need to spill myself out into your grasp. I squirm, it's almost painful, this vehemence of your thrusts and my coming in aching spasms, but you keep going, wringing me dry of every drop like it's something you are owed and will not be denied, and finally you start shivering, thrust deeply one last time, and groan into my neck as I feel you pour yourself into me. Your hand grabs so tight, I know there will be bruises._

 

 

_I love you, you fucking psycho, you bastard, you gorgeous murderer_

It just comes to my mind in that moment of void that follows an orgasm like that and I stay still, very still. Then, slowly, I realize I'm gripping you so tight it might hurt, that my cock is wet and spent but still inside you; I remember _you_. Slowly I pull out, I'll take my time cleaning myself up later, I just gently turn you around, silently checking on you, on your reaction: I don't really do much but look at you, carefully, ready for anything.

 

_I'm... floating, somewhere, and it takes me a while to get back to my body when I feel you stirring, releasing your death grip on my hip, slowly pulling out of me, and it feels *wrong*, like you're leaving a void, an emptiness inside me where you should be. You turn me around, so gently, and I look into your face, not sure of what I will find there, fearing - fearing? - yes, fearing being confronted with a cold, uncaring face, a face that will tell me to fuck off now I've served my purpose, and with the unforgiving clarity that sometimes comes after orgasm I realize that that was *my* face, so often, already bored with you after I spilled my seed, not caring about whether you had finished or even enjoyed the experience, and I feel a stab of - something –_

_But you look caring, and concerned, checking if I'm alright and oh god - checking if I'm not angry with you._

_I can't - I wrap my arms around you and burrow my face into your chest for fear of what you might see on it._

 

 

Oh dear. Your face is not that detached cold mask I've seen so many times, it's not even lit by that fury that takes over you from time to time and that, yes, I've known personally. You look… Unsure, thinking, _scared_ even. Of what? Of me?

Then you wrap yourself around me so that can't be, not really. You aren't afraid of me, are you now? I just let you hold me, my own arms supporting you, my fingers combing through your hair.

Whenever you're ready.

 

 

_You stroke my hair, which is too much, I'm confused; I can't do this Sebastian, this is not who we are. You don't get to fuck me harshly and you most definitely don't get to stroke my hair afterwards. But don't stop. My legs feel weak - I feel like I'm going to sink onto the floor, but your strong arms hold me and don't let me slide down. I snort, a little. Typical. You would never let me down. I'm - not sure what to do now. So I just - stay here for now._

 

 

You're snorting, but it's brief and almost cute. What did just happen? What am I doing now? But you're aching, probably, and you're definitely tired, I can feel it by the way you're leaning against me.

After one last stroke I easily pick you up - no biggie - and literally carry you to the bed, where I finally lay you down. Rest now. If... If you want, of course: I'm not sure I have the same decisional power I had few minutes ago. I still don't speak, though. That'd be useless.

 

 

_You - pick me up, bodily, and carry me to the bedroom, which is - almost sweet. You lay me down on the bed, look at me with that look... fondness? Then, you look less certain - and there are words. Words which are hiding behind your face and not revealing themselves to me. And I can order you to do anything - but I'm not sure how I'd go about ordering you to speak words that you may not even be conscious of. And I feel my own throat constrict with words left unsaid - what words might they - but they hide in shame before I can look at them._

_I reach up to you, take your arm, pull you down beside me. Then I just stroke your face, wordlessly._

 

 

So much left unsaid, even now as I let you brush your fingers on my face, stroking it so tenderly. It... It does feel like you care a little. It does feel like you wouldn't leave me for some clever boy, it just.. It's you and me again and if I don't ask now, I never will. It's just.. Time, the only time I've got.

"Mine?" I ask and yes, it's a question. My voice manages to waver slightly even in one syllable and it does _not_ tremble, it surely isn't that. I'm ready for an answer, _any_. I need to know, I need it to be conscious, I need it to understand where my life will go.

 

 

_You look - so intensely into my eyes, like you're trying to read my life, my mind, the depths of my soul. You look - searching, wanting, looking for something. I wonder what - and then you speak. Finally, you speak, and all those words that were warring inside you when I looked at you, and probably before, when you were fucking me, are distilled into one word, one syllable, so full of desperation, longing, ache, that it makes my chest constrict._

_How can I ever answer this? Every organ of my body appears to want to have a say - I didn't know I was a bleeding democracy. 'Yours', my cock says, twinging in its slumber; 'Fear', my stomach chirps; 'No fucking way,' my brain says, ready to overrule them all. My heart tries to get a voice in but I've locked that up tightly decades ago and prisoners don't get a vote. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I thought my brain had given an order. I expected it to be obeyed. Apparently my vocal cords are in league with the dissenting factions._

 

 

Right.

It's… It's ok, how could I ever expect anything else. I can see the struggle in your eyes, it would be painful if this wasn't so harsh on me, on parts of me I didn't even consider. I'm not angry, though, no, I'm just feeling… Heavier. I smile, if a bit sadly, and lean closer with what feels like an incredible effort to brush my lips on your cheek.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Maybe it just won't and what's aching now will ache just as much.

I want at least to say goodnight but my throat feels tight and in flames. I need a moment, so just gently, very gently turn around and curl in on myself a little… I should sleep, or plan my future, with you, without you, or maybe both? I'm confused, and it feels like I'm bleeding somewhere. I need clarity. Rest. Clarity.

 

 

_You... oh god I could have kicked a puppy and have seen less dolorous eyes. You swallow, compose yourself, pull your mask back onto your face, even manage a smile. And a kiss. Judas' kiss to Jesus' cheek could not have felt more bitter._

_You turn around and I realize I've just broken something. Something we were never meant to know, but it still hurts to see it disappear._

_And my limbs take charge. Without listening to my brain telling them to stop, they climb over you, kneel in front of the bed, grab your hands, look into your face - wary more than surprised, and pull your hands to my lips._

_"I'm a criminal psychopath," my vocal cords say - oh *now* they've found their voice. "I mistreat you, use you, abuse you. I hurt you, send you to kill, send you into situations where you could very well be killed. I'm unpredictable, careless, cold-hearted. I'm the worst motherfucker you could ever have the misfortune to meet. If that is what you want - you're even crazier than me. But - if that is what you want-" my voice breaks, even my vocal cords seem to have trouble voicing the next bit, " - if that is what you want, then –_

_I'm yours."_

_My brain is screaming at me, and I freeze, only too aware of the insanity of this, of the vulnerability I'm exposing myself to, fucking hell Jim, what are you playing at?!_

_But - this is not a game._

_This is Sebastian._


End file.
